Page 42 of Fired at the Heart

Her response cuts through the static. “Clear. Found manifests but nothing recent. Jace is checking the shipping containers outside.”

“No one’s admitting to seeing Jade.” Raphael approaches. “We’ve asked everyone on the east side.”

The adrenaline that served me so well during the fight now turns sour, leaving me jittery and impatient. I approach one of the guards, the youngest of who’s left. “We’re searching for someone. Omega, early twenties, blond hair with dark roots. Would have been brought in recently.”

He keeps his forehead pressed to the concrete floor, refusing to acknowledge me.

I lean in close, my lips at his ear. “Don’t want to talk to me?”

A bead of sweat slides down his temple, and his jaw tightens with the strain of clenched teeth. Every man here is aware of the truth. Take a job like this, and it’s lights out if things go wrong. They’re all prepared to die.

Which just means I need a reason greater than this man’s life to crack him open and spill all his secrets.

I inhale, catching the scent of his fear. “That’s a nice tan line you have on your ring finger. Got someone special at home, waiting to confirm you made it through another job?”

His lashes flutter as his eyes dart toward me.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to have attachments in this line of work?” I coo. “Don’t tell me you havechildren.”

He flinches, and the trap snaps shut.

“Should we bring your family here? Show them how you put bread on the table?” I grip his sweaty hair and turn his head to the side, pulling down my mask at the same time so he can see my face.

Shock registers on his face. “You’re an Omega.”

I smile, knowing it won’t reach my eyes. “I was born in a place like this. When I was six, the owners put a gun in my hands for the first time. They were bored, and they told me to choose which of my friends would live or die. Who do you think your child will choose? You or your partner? Either way, that kind of trauma… It changes a person. Twists them?—”

“I’ve seen him,” he spits out.

“Go on.”

“He was here.” Once he starts speaking, he stumbles over the words to get them out fast enough. “They took him with the special shipment a few days ago.”

Caleb pushes forward. “What special shipment?”

“The ones that go to the rich clients. Private sales.” Sweat drips down his temples. “He fought them. Wouldn’t shut up, even when they hit him.”

Pride blooms in my chest despite everything. That sounds like Jade.

“Where did they take him?” Raphael demands.

The man shakes his head. “We don’t get told destinations. Just load ’em into vans.”

I reach out to flick his ear. “Why are these shipments special?”

He flinches, a little squeak escaping his lips. “The ones who pay extra get their merchandise delivered personally. Custom handling.”

“Custom handling,” Caleb repeats. “Like he’s a fucking package.”

“Do these special shipments have special destinations?” Raphael asks.

He shakes his head. “They take their time with the transfers. I overheard once that they clean the merchandise up first. Make them presentable.”

I flick his ear again. “Where?”

“I don’t know.” He licks his cracked lips. “But they called it the Finishing House.”

I stare down at the man. “Anything else?”

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